


When We're Fire

by personalobserver



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, non-au, talk of alcoholism, talk of past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalobserver/pseuds/personalobserver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is based off of the prompt from lxrry: <i>okay so like one where Louis and Harry are both depressed y'know? they're both so broken yet so in love and they push each other and everyone away and it only breaks their hearts more. they're depressed, (they don't have to cut but just be like depressed) and they love each other, always have; always will, but they only push each other away because that's what they both do. the one where both are broken and are trying to fix the other.</i></p>
<p>It's probably nothing like the prompt because I sort of ran with it, but I hope you enjoy, anyway!</p>
<p>Title is from Lo-Fang's song with the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We're Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning: I've never written anything like this before, and all mistakes are my own.

It’s never been easy for them. Well, it used to be, but things have changed. A lot. And, it’s not like they expected it to be so easy forever, but their lives were practically twisted upside down so quickly, so suddenly, that they were never able to adjust to it, the changes. 

They were only taught to push everything away. _Everything_. That’s what their management told them, at least. _Don’t feed the rumors. Don’t pay attention to them, but don’t ignore them either._ It’s not their fault they were never given proper guidance, a helping hand to help them work through everything, instead of everyone expecting them to know how to deal with it all when they were so young. They were so _young_.

And now there are more rumors. Rumors hinting that they’re not doing fine anymore, that there used to be something there, but there may not be anymore. Which makes management even more pissed. And they have no idea what to do, how they’re supposed to please everyone. Because if they’re too close, they get yelled at to push each other away, and if they’re too distant, the fans notice – of course they notice, and there’s even more trouble. 

Honestly, Harry has no idea what he’s supposed to do anymore.

Because, even the boys are getting frustrated with him and Louis, and Harry absolutely hates it when people are mad at him, or disappointed in him. He just wants everything to fixed already, but he doesn’t _fucking_ know how. Sometimes, he just wishes they could go back in time, maybe not be so obvious about everything, and then they wouldn’t have to deal with this mess. 

But he doesn’t own a time machine, so he has to resort to continuing to keep his distance, stick to scrolling through his phone, and just scribbling down his thoughts and emotions in his journal. 

Which is what he’s doing now, cramped into a chair at the small table in their bus, doodling lightning bolts in the margins of his journal. They were all crammed into the same bus since the one Zayn and Louis normally ride in got a flat tire, or something. Harry wasn’t really paying attention when they came onto the bus, staring down at his hands as Louis walked right passed him.

Niall and Zayn are sprawled across the sofa, arguing over which movie to put in next, while Liam snaps a selfie with their driver. And Harry really doesn’t know where Louis is. Because he’s gotten used to not paying attention to him so much, that he tends to just push him to the back of his mind, behind the worries that constantly plague his mind. 

“We’re almost at the hotel.”

Harry’s head snaps up at the closeness of the voice, seeing Louis standing awkwardly in the opening of the hallway, his eyes flitting around the room and just barely registering Harry’s presence. The other boys voice their acknowledgment, and Harry just nods to himself, going back to filling in an entire line across the page. He focuses intently on just keeping his head down, because Louis is still standing there, and if Harry looks up to find Louis watching him, he’s pretty sure he’ll magically fly out of his chair and wrap Louis in his arms, pressing kisses to his face, and promise to make all of his worries go away.

But he can’t do that. Not even because he’s not sure _how_ to make all of his worries go away, but because he’s not ready for the awkwardness that would be sure to come after that encounter. And Harry’s never once in his life had to worry about how it was going to be after he hugged or kissed Louis, but he supposes it’s a thing now. And it’s fucking weird, is what it is.

But, eventually, Louis goes to the bus to do whatever the hell he does these days. And Harry sighs, closing up his journal and stuffing in under his thigh, pulls out his phone to check his email. 

They get to the hotel about five-or-so minutes later. All of the other boys run off ahead of him, Niall yelling something about getting first pick of rooms. They wind their way through the kitchen, having taken the back entrance, and by the time Harry makes it to the front desk, only Zayn and Paul are there. He gets his room key from Paul, ignoring the weird looks he and Zayn are giving him, and Zayn wrap an arm around his shoulders, leading him to the elevators. Once the metal door slides shut, Zayn rushes to say,

“I just want you to know it wasn’t my idea, yeah?”

Harry looks up from where he’s fiddling with the strap of his duffel bag, his brow furrowing just as the door slides open and a few elderly women step onto the elevator with them. “What d’you mean?”

Zayn just shakes his head at him, smiling at the women who joined them. Harry looks back down to his bag with a frustrated sigh, because he hates when people know something he doesn’t. He shoves his way through the door before it’s even opened fully, turning around abruptly and raising his eyebrows at Zayn expectantly. 

“So,” Zayn begins, sighing and resituating his bag on his shoulder. “Niall got the single room.”

“All right...” Harry says slowly, confused. “Then I’ll just room with you or Liam.”

“Right.” Zayn averts his eyes, chewing at the inside of his cheek. 

“C’mon,” Harry huffs, rolling his eyes. “Spit it out.”

“Liam thought you two should talk,” Zayn blurts. “Before the whole tour starts up, just to make sure things aren’t weird, y’know?” 

Harry just gapes at him, so he continues.

“So you two are sharing a room.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head, starting to laugh manically. “No, we’re not. This is joke, right? I’m actually rooming with you.”

Zayn just gives him this sad, apologetic look before he scampers off down the hall toward his own room with a shouted, “Good luck!”

And yeah. Harry can’t do this. He can’t go deal with all of _that_ right now. No matter how much he really does love Louis, he really doesn’t want to have any arguments right now. So angrily presses the elevator button and steps inside once it reaches his floor.

The hotel bar is quite crowded, considering it’s early evening, but Harry really just needs a drink or two. Or several. The waiter gets him a booth near the back of the room, and he keeps the drinks coming, so Harry likes him instantly. 

After he finishes his cocktail, he realizes he’s not really sure why he’s drinking. It started off to forget about having to share a room with Louis, but then his drunken mind can’t _not_ think about the boy he’s got waiting for him in his room. Okay, he’s probably not _waiting_ for him, most likely is going to be asleep by the time he gets back up there, but Harry can’t differentiate between the two in his current state. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been by the time he finally tells Ryan, the server, that he’s done. He gets up on wobbly legs, his heavy bag dragging him down even more, and he barely staggers his way up to the bar, grasping at a stool to keep him upright, when Ryan offers to help him to his room. And Harry’s about to deny, but then Ryan takes his bag from him and Harry really doesn’t want it back. 

When they get to his room, Ryan has to dig though Harry’s pockets to find his room key, which makes Harry giggle uncontrollably, while Ryan just blushes with an awkward smile on his face. Harry likes Ryan. 

“Where are your shoes?” Ryan asks him.

Harry’s eyes widen, just barely, and he looks down, his socked toes are digging into the plush carpet of the hallway. “Dunno, mate!” Harry laughs, clapping Ryan on the shoulder and taking his bag and room key back once Ryan’s swiped the door open. “Thank you, Ryan,” Harry drawls, stepping into the room and not realizing the way he slams the door closed in Ryan’s worried face. 

He spins around, throwing his bag down onto the floor by the empty bed, not even noticing Louis’ sitting up in bed, watching him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Louis snaps, and Harry gasps loudly, having forgot he was sharing a room with him.

Harry just looks as him, and he looks so _angry_ , and Harry takes a step back, looking down and remembering he lost his shoes. “I lost my shoes,” he says, eyes sliding up to Louis, and he thinks he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. And why is he crying over losing his shoes? He can just buy more.

“And you’re _crying_ over it?” Louis asks, baffled. 

That makes the tears roll down his cheeks. “I really liked them,” Harry explains. _Is this really happening?_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis groans and starts getting out of his bed, throwing the duvet off of his legs. 

Harry wipes at his eyes, feeling his shoulders start to shake. And he realizes this must be about more than just losing his shoes. Then warm hands glide over his shoulders, squeezing at the tense muscle, and he hiccups a breath.

“Let’s go to sleep, okay, H?”

Harry nods, whimpering out a sob and staggering over to his bed, tripping over something on the floor. He lies back on the bed and opens his eyes. Louis is standing next to the bed, his cool fingers brushing his hair off his forehead, making him sigh. 

“Do you want me to help you undress?” Louis asks, rubbing a thumb over the wet streaks on his cheeks.

Harry nods, nuzzling briefly into Louis’ hand. Then it’s gone, and Louis has moved down the bed, his hands beginning to remove his belt, and Harry closes his eyes, remembering the familiarity of it all, when he and Louis would mess around in the hotel rooms, trying and failing to be quiet so the other boys wouldn’t hear them. Harry smiles as the fabric of his jeans are pulled down his legs, lifting his hips to help out. 

“You’re hard, Haz,” Louis says, almost like he’s worried about it.

Harry just whines, because yes, he _knows_ he’s hard. He’s always hard these days. But especially when he’s drunk, which he suddenly realizes is very often. “I know,” he sighs, his hands itching to touch himself. 

Nimble fingers begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, and Harry can hear Louis’ breathing near his head. He slowly opens his eyes and Louis is right there, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on undoing the buttons in the darkness of the room. He lets him move his arms where he needs them in order to get the shirt off. He watches as Louis folds up his clothes into neat little squares, setting them on the chair at the end of his bed, just like he knows Harry likes. 

Then Louis disappears somewhere so Harry closes his eyes to calm his breathing. He can hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears, and sometimes he hates how Louis has this effect on him, making him blush, and stutter, and feel like he’s about to have a heart attack. It’s annoying as hell, but it’s also the best feeling in the world. 

His eyes snap open when there’s a clinking on the nightstand and he turns to see Louis standing with a glass of water in his hand, another glass and a few headache tablets setting on the nightstand. He looks so small in his briefs that Harry can barely make out in the lighting. His eyes look tired and Harry suddenly feels like shit for having him take care of him. 

“Drink this,” Louis instructs, stepping closer and placing a hand behind Harry’s head, helping him lift his head up and guiding the glass to Harry’s lips.

Harry chugs the water, not even knowing how thirsty he was. He’s sure most of it dribbles down his chin and onto his chest, but it still feels good, nonetheless. “Thanks,” he mumbles when Louis steps away, placing the glass on the nightstand. 

And Louis is about to turn away and get in bed, and Harry’s not having it. “Wait,” he whispers, and Louis turns around to look at him. “Come here.”

Louis shuffles over, looking down at where his fingers are playing at the waistband of his briefs, and Harry can see how skinny Louis is now. Probably from all the stress of everything that’s going on, everything that’s happening so fast. 

“Come here,” Harry says again, but Louis’ thighs are already pressing against the mattress, so he gives Harry a weird look, and Harry blinks slowly. “Please.” 

Louis sighs, but he knees up onto the bed anyway, making Harry scoot over so he can lie down next to him. They’re close enough to share the same pillow, and Harry is suddenly overwhelmed with _LouisLouisLouis_ that he has to close his eyes momentarily to keep the room from spinning. 

They’re both lying on their sides, facing each other, but Louis is looking down between their bodies, picking at a thread in the duvet. Harry reaches out a tentative hand, resting it around Louis’ hip, just tugging him a bit closer. 

“Harry,” Louis sighs in warning, raising his head to look at him, but Harry is drunk and giving no fucks right now.

“C’mon, Lou,” Harry pleads, his voice whiny. “I just, I miss you, yeah?” He scoots closer, hunkering down burrow his face into the warm space between Louis’ neck and shoulder, breathing in his oh-so-familiar smell. 

He can hear Louis groan, the sound of it vibrating against his temple that’s pressed to Louis’ throat. But he’s not pulling away, so Harry takes it as a green light. He shifts his head to press his lips to Louis neck, nuzzling his nose along the stubble of his jaw. “I love you,” he drawls, craning his neck to catch Louis’ lips in a kiss. And Louis doesn’t respond immediately, but he’s not deterred, just peppers sucking kisses to Louis’ mouth, to the bow of his upper lip, and the plush swell of the lower. 

A hand tightens around the back of his neck, jerking him in closer so their mouths slide together smoothly. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep doing this,” Louis gasps, pulling at Harry’s hair to pull him out of the kiss.

“Don’t say that,” Harry pouts, feeling tears prickling at his eyes again. “I love you, Lou. And I know you love me.”

Louis shakes his head, already shifting to get out of the bed. “Sometimes I feel like that isn’t enough anymore.”

Harry closes his eyes, clutching at the warmth of the mattress where Louis just was. He’s not able to watch as Louis walks away from him. Even though it’s just a few feet away from his bed, it feels like so much more.

**

When Harry wakes, Louis’ bed is empty and he has a similar feeling aching in his chest. He downs the tablets and water still setting on the nightstand, and winces at the throbbing in his head. He checks his phone to find messages from Niall and Liam, telling him they’ve gone to the gym, if he wants to join them. And no, Harry cannot deal with heavy lifting and sweating right now. 

He rolls out of bed, the urge to piss taking over his limbs. He stumbles back into the room from the toilet, having brushed his teeth while he clung for dear life to the counter. After he wipes the sleep from his eyes, he notices the figure that’s picking up some clothing from the floor.

“Louis?”

The figure stops, turning around to stare at him.

“I thought you’d left,” Louis says, averting his eyes and continuing to pick up his clothes, then Harry remembers he’s still only wearing a pair of briefs.

“Had to piss,” he says, scratching at his stomach, and Louis just nods, not even looking at him. 

“I’m going out,” Louis says, taking off his sweats and slipping on a pair of black jeans.

“Out? It’s still early.”

“It’s nearly evening.”

Oh. Harry hadn’t bothered to check the time when he woke up. Guess he overslept just a bit. “I’ll go with you,” he decides, starting to rummage through his bag, but a hand stops his motions.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Louis mumbles. “Y’know. Paps and the like.”

Harry just nods, standing up straight and shrugging his shoulders. He doesn’t care. Really. “Yeah, okay. Um, are any of the boys going with you?”

“Nah,” Louis shakes his head. “Just me and some mates.”

_Mates_. “All right. Well...” his voice trails off. He really doesn’t know what to say as he watches Louis get ready.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

Harry’s head snaps away from the carpet and over to the door, where Louis is already stepping outside. He just nods when Louis’ piercing eyes slide over to him, trying to force a smile.

Then the door clicks shut and Harry’s shoulders slump. He’s still not used to this, having to put on a façade when he’s around Louis. It’s makes no sense to him, but nobody around him seems to question it, so it’s something he just does now. And he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Louis is gone, and Harry is left with nothing but his thoughts. 

Harry hates being alone with his thoughts.

So he drops to the floor, crawling over to his bag and rifling through it to find the bottle of vodka he snuck past Paul. He cracks it open, taking a first swig and letting the liquid burn down his throat. And _this_ is something Harry can deal with. Something familiar that’s sadly become _too_ familiar these days.

But he lets himself have it, slouching against the bed and flicking on some music on his phone. He knows he’s only just started, but he’s hoping it won’t take long to get the burn of the blue eyes out of his mind.

** 

It’s about two hours and a half of a bottle of vodka later that Niall finds him in his room. He’s starts off saying something about a hangout in Zayn’s and Liam’s room, but he shuts up quickly when he makes eye contact with Harry on the floor. 

Harry smiles at him, flinging his arms open to entice Niall into a hug. But Niall just sighs, bending down to tuck his arms beneath Harry’s armpits, lifting him up and dropping him onto the bed, confiscating his vodka in the process.

“You can’t keep doing this, H,” Niall is saying, but Harry has a pleasant thrum rolling through his head. 

“I’m an adult,” Harry slurs. “I can do as I please.”

“Adults don’t do this,” Niall says, his eyes worried. “Only if they’re really, truly fucked up.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Harry asks, “Do you think I’m fucked up, Ni?”

Niall just watches him for a moment, and Harry can feel vomit churning in his stomach. He doesn’t want to be fucked up.

“Niall,” Harry whines. “I think I need some help.”

Niall shushes him, petting some hair off his forehead. “It’s gonna be okay, mate. You’re not the only fucked up one here.”

“But.” Harry pauses, his voice catching on the sobs building in his throat. “I can’t be fucked up. I don’t wanna be. And I don’t want Lou to be, either.” 

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Harry nods slowly, tears falling down his face. “I lost my shoes, Ni,” he pouts. “My favorite ones, remember them? They’re gone.”

Niall laughs softly. “Probably a good thing, that. They were practically falling apart anyhow.”

Harry shakes his head. “But they didn’t just have to run away like that. We could’ve had a proper burial and everything.” 

Niall’s eyes flit over his face, accessing. “I’m sure they’ll come back, Haz. Then it’ll be as good as it once was.”

And in his drunken state of mind, a thought flits through his head, asking if they’re still talking about his shoes, or something else. But just like that, it’s gone. 

**

He’s sitting in his hotel bed, propped up against the pillows and nursing a hangover at one in the morning. He’s pretty sure his sleeping schedule is already fucked up from having slept in until evening, and then passing out after Niall tucked him into bed. He supposes it doesn’t really matter since they’re usually up this late while they’re touring, anyway, but it’s different when he doesn’t have someone to share his insomnia with. 

As if on cue, there’s a thudding against the door, then some muffled whispers, and then a familiar voice, “I’m sharing a room.”

Harry jolts up out of bed, rushing to the door, and swinging it open to find Louis leaning against the frame, a girl and a boy clinging to his arms, cooing over him. And when Louis looks over to Harry, he notices his large, dilated eyes, and the red rims around them. 

Without a second thought, he grabs Louis’ forearm, pulling him away from the leeches and into the room. He slams the door closed behind them as Louis stumbles away and collapses into bed. But Harry’s just getting started.

“Where did you go?” he asks, his brain throbbing with the harshness of his voice.

Louis rolls over slowly to look at him. “A friend’s place.”

“How much did you take?”

“Just a little. Stop worrying, Curly.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to not worry,” Harry snaps, and Louis eyes get even wider. “I’m sick of you showing up high off your ass, and I have no idea what drugs you’ve done, how much of it is in your system, if I should phone for help. Because you never fucking tell me anything.”

Louis scoffs. “Same goes for you, mister alcoholic.” 

“You’ve never _once_ asked me how much I’ve had to drink,” Harry quips. “You just put me bed without even worrying that I could be dead the next time you wake up.”

Louis groans, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t see the big deal. I know won’t do anything that could kill you.”

Harry hangs his head, staring at the ground, whispering, “You don’t know that.”

Then suddenly Louis is right in front of him, shaking him by the shoulders. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ say that.”

Harry shoves him away. “It’s not like I _want_ these thoughts, again, Louis!” He glares at Louis, his fists clenching at his sides. “You know I was depressed and cut before we met and were put into the band. You know _you’re_ the one who got me to quit.” He pauses, looking down and catching his breath. “And you know you’re the reason why I’m having these struggles again.”

Louis stumbles back slightly, appearing defeated, his raises his hands to the side, palms facing the ceiling, shrugging. “I don’t know how to change that, honestly.”

Harry nods once. “I know. Neither do I.”

Louis falls back onto his bed, sighing at the ceiling. “I hate this. Truly. Why can’t thing just be like they were?” His voice sounds so lost, so _hopeless_ , that Harry can’t help but feel the same. 

He moves to sit on his own bed, fiddling with the hem of his briefs. “Because they’re doing what’s best for us.”

Louis sits up, staring at him. “Don’t defend them. Do you hear yourself?”

Harry looks down at his hands, feeling so small, and so vulnerable. He hates when Louis is mad at him, especially when it’s over something like _this_. When he looks back up, Louis is walking toward him, shucking off his jacket and standing in between Harry’s parted legs. Louis hugs him, and Harry quickly presses his face to Louis’ sternum, clutching his fists into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I love you, Harry,” Louis whispers, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “I just. I feel like I’ve forgotten how to.” 

Harry sighs shakily, the entire weight of Louis’ words sinking into his skin. Because that’s not right, is it? Forgetting how to love someone that you’ve loved for nearly four years. _Four fucking years_. He presses a hand to Louis’ hip, feeling the protruding bones that weren’t as easily felt just several months ago. He clutches to Louis’ small frame, smaller than it once was, lacking the more noticeable curves that Harry loved, the warm fingers that used to card through his hair, now gone cold.

Harry thinks they’ve become their relationship, themselves. Louis, withering away from the stress and worry, from not being able to think clearly or get the help he needs. And Harry, trying to cling to the remnants, but also drinking to forget, trying to keep them together, keep them healthy, while Louis does the opposite – trying to show everyone that he doesn’t care, that they have to effect on him, but they notice. Everyone will always notice. 

It’s only a matter of time before everyone notices how sick Louis looks these days, how he doesn’t keep up his appearance like he used to. Then they’ll look to Harry, who they’ll say is looking _too_ happy, maybe be seen out in pubic too much, and it will fuel the rumors, causing even more problems for them.

Everyone will assume they’re falling apart, moving on from each other, when the truth is, they’re just trying to forget all the shit they’ve been put through. Trying to forget that they’ve been told they can’t love each other, that they can’t prove or deny any rumors. _Keep to yourselves, stop messing around._

But Harry thinks he can do it - _they_ can do it. They’ll be able to make it out of this alive. Granted, they may never be the same young boys in love that they used to be, but they’ll have more knowledge than they once had. They’ll be more aware of how easily people can fuck them over without giving it a second thought. They won’t be as gullible, as oblivious as they used to be.

Harry knows they can make it. He’ll be there for Louis, always. And he knows Louis would do the same for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how to feel about this, so please let me know what you thought?? Thank you (:


End file.
